


Famed Halls

by IndigoDream, Siwucha



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Family Bonding, Getting Together, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29354046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siwucha/pseuds/Siwucha
Summary: After finding Ciri, Geralt and Jaskier head to the home of the Wolf Witchers. Jaskier learns to know the other wolf witchers, bonds with the young princess, and attempts to deal with his ever growing feelings for his witcher.Geralt's family decides to take matters in their own hands.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 384





	Famed Halls

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~ 
> 
> This fic was written for the Geraskier Midwinter Reverse Minibang, in collaboration with the most wonderful Radaan, which you can check out on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/aestusaart/) or on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/truecryptid/)! I hope you'll enjoy :)

Kaer Morhen is cozied up in between two mountains, a looming shadow in the setting sun of the evening. It’s a rather lovely sight and, on any other ordinary day, Jaskier would pipe up with some light teasing of beautiful places, raising beautiful people, if only to see Geralt glower at him. Of course, the witcher would have a bit more colour to his cheeks, a hint of red that would make Jaskier hope madly for a second and a half. He would then have to crush his own hopes, bring back to his mind that loving Geralt was something he was destined to do quietly. He would sigh and remind himself that not all great waves are heard by those who see them, and by that very example it wasn’t needed for Geralt to know of Jaskier’s love. Their friendship, he would convince himself, was more than enough for him. 

Of course, today is not very ordinary. None of the days in the last month and a half have been, in truth. Mostly, that is due to the presence of the child sitting atop Roach. 

Ciri’s royal blue cloak is tight around her as she holds herself, a light shiver running through her. The air is cool, and it only grows colder as they walk the path to the witchers’ keep. Luckily, it hasn’t rained much in the last two weeks, which hadn’t been quite the case when they had been in Velen. Cursed be that place and its constant bad weather. 

“Jask,” Ciri asks in a whisper, although both are aware that Geralt, who is walking only a meter ahead, can hear them. “Do you think they’ll like me? The witchers?” 

“Why would they not like you, Cirilla?” Jaskier asks gently, reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently. “You’re an absolute wonder of a person. Of course they will like you.” 

“But what if they don’t? They are Geralt’s family and…” She glances furtively at Geralt, whose shoulders have tensed ever so slightly. Jaskier only notices because they have been travelling together for fifteen years. How could he  _ not _ notice? “I don’t think Geralt likes me very much… I don’t even know how to fight!” 

A pang of bittersweet pain goes through Jaskier’s heart and he sighs heavily, trying to keep himself calm. “Of course Geralt likes you. You’re his child surprise, you are basically his daughter. He has just been very worried about your safety, but once we are inside the Keep, I’m sure you two will get to know each other better. You will see how much he loves you then.” 

“You promise?” 

“I do,” Jaskier nods seriously. “Travelling through the Continent has been hard on the three of us, even for Geralt. He seems strong and unbreakable from afar, but he has a big heart which means he worries a lot. Especially about the people he cares about.” 

“And I’m one of those?” She is still tentative, as if she expects Geralt to turn back and snap at them to stop being distracted. 

It is easy, in those moments, to see the princess of Cintra. In those moments when she lets slip her strict education, she is no longer Ciri, the little girl he sang lullabies to every winter, or the curious child who ran around the gardens only to climb trees in the middle of winter. She is Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, heiress to the throne of Cintra, granddaughter of the Lion Queen. 

And she is  _ afraid _ .

“Of course you are,” Jaskier assures her. “Would I ever lie to you? Trust me, he cares about you.” 

“Alright.” 

She smiles a bit and turns her eyes back to the path ahead. The silence of dusk surrounds them, only broken by Geralt’s soft exhales, Roach’s hooves on the dirt and rocks, and Ciri flexing her fingers on the leather of the saddle. It is a strange moment for Jaskier. This deep in nature, he would expect birds, deer, wolves, or any animals that reside nearby to be out and about. They may have adapted to the witchers living nearby, but Geralt had spoken of a bountiful place crawling with creatures. 

A shriek sounds in the air, loud and blood chilling, and Jaskier gulps. Geralt had indeed said  _ creatures _ . Not animals. Well, at least there is life nearby. It’s a small comfort, and it turns out to be rather the opposite when he realizes the sound is likely to be a forktail, or any other flying, deranged monster’s scream. Wonderful. 

Strangely, Ciri doesn’t seem disturbed by this. Jaskier sees that she is chewing on her lower lips, and he wonders where an eight years old learned that stress tic, but then he remembers Pavetta. The belated Princess had done this quite often, especially when she was deep in thoughts. 

The scream echoes through the valley, but Geralt doesn’t seem overly concerned, so Jaskier attempts to calm himself and keep his cool. Yes, he has fought bigger monsters, defeated larger foes than a forktail, but he has never been one to enjoy battle. It is why, after all, he left the fae city he had called his own. Hidden on an island far off the coast, they had had regular visits from sea monsters, amongst others. Harpies and sirens had been often seen flying through their skies, and while they were rather harmless over all, Jaskier had grown tired of all the hiding and the magically engineered hiding. He had wanted freedom. 

“Are you afraid of the monsters, Jask?” Ciri smiles a bit as she looks at him. “I thought you were a tough bard who had seen everything in the world?”

In the last sentence, she is clearly imitating him, and while he can’t remember the exact time he has told her that, he has no doubt that it happened. He has spent enough times entertaining her and making her laugh while in Cintra that she now has a near perfect imitation of him. It could become bothersome, he supposes, but he doubts he could ever stop the fondness he has for the girl in his chest.

“What if I am?” He shrugs and winks at her. “Regardless, we are going to be even safer than we are now, and soon.” 

Geralt turns to them then, and Jaskier can see that he has heard all of their conversation because there is a strange, grateful light in his eyes. 

“It was just a wyvern. She has her nest on the other side of the opposite mountain. She’s harmless, except to a couple of goats.” 

Jaskier hums a bit and, glancing at Ciri whose face betrays her nervousness and hope, he adds, “Doesn’t Eskel have a goat though?” 

Geralt has a quick grin, and Jaskier smiles softly. How beautiful he is, when he allows himself the softness he so clearly craves. The hint of sharp teeth, the way the sun catches his golden pupils… These are only a couple of the ways Geralt’s body accommodates his change of mood; Jaskier knows them all, adores every single one of them. Just as he adores every single thing about Geralt, even when it frustrates him and makes him want to yell.

Love is a bit of a fool, he tells himself. And it certainly doesn’t know how to pick the right person to devote itself to. Jaskier has given up fighting against his own feelings, he is much too old for this now, but he still half wishes somedays that he could be content with Geralt’s friendship. That he did not spend every morning he wakes up curled against the witcher wanting to sob at having to tear himself from the warm embrace. That he would, for once, stop comparing all the people that he meets to his White Wolf. 

Wait, no. Not  _ his _ .  _ The _ White Wolf. There, better. He really needs to get all of those silly thoughts about Geralt being  _ his  _ out of his mind. After all, it’s only a silly thought. And people don’t belong to anyone else. 

“Yes,” Geralt is trying to contain his grin a bit. “He does.” 

“Your brother has a goat?” Ciri exclaims, leaning forward on Roach’s saddle. “What is it named?” 

“Lil’ Bleater,” Geralt smiles, eyes fond on Ciri. “She is a menace.” 

“I’m sure she’s amazing,” the eight year old declares, nodding as she crosses her arms. “Do you think she’ll like me?” 

“She hates everyone,” Geralt says a bit apologetically. “She ran for my knees the first time Eskel brought her to the Keep. Which was right after he got her back from the wyvern, who had dropped her mid-flight.” 

Ciri giggles, the sound a delight, and this time Geralt actually smiles; it’s a slow, delightful little thing that takes all of his face. 

“She sounds funny.” 

“Not the word I would have chosen for her, but you two poets can call her whatever you want.” Geralt smiles, slowing down so he can be closer to Ciri, although Roach doesn’t slow down. The horse clearly knows the path to Kaer Morhen well, as well as her master. 

“I’m not a poet!” Ciri says, and Jaskier would be annoyed by the offended tone she has if it weren’t so absurdly endearing. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed the company of children, with their blunt honesty and every thought they had coming out of them in eager puffs of air. “I’m a lion!” 

Geralt hums, and reaches up, gently twirling her long hair around his finger. “Surely, you have the mane of one, little cub.” 

She pretends to pout, but Jaskier can see the happiness leaking out of her very pores at the attention Geralt is giving her. She deserves it. She needs Geralt, needs a new father, needs someone to hold her at night who will be there to reassure her when nightmares from Cintra burning come to haunt her. Jaskier can try his best, and he has already sworn to her that he would always be there for her, she would only have to ask, but he knows that she will need Geralt too. They are bound to each other in a way Jaskier will never quite understand. 

Sea fae have defied Destiny more often than they should be proud of. They have brought upon themselves calamity after calamity, have called upon the gods to be cast aside, have even wielded magic to untie Destiny’s hold on them. Jaskier will never claim the law of surprise, not because he hasn’t done any deeds that would call for invoking it, but simply because Destiny Herself might manifest to smite him if She sensed that someone with his blood tried to have Her bless them. 

“How long do we still have?” 

Ciri’s voice pulls Jaskier out of his thoughts, and he turns his head back to see Ciri looking at Geralt again. Even in their clothing, the two match, already a little family as they wear similar capes bordered with fur and thick woollen gloves.

“Only a half hour, at the most. We might want to hurry though,” Geralt says with a nod towards the sky.

Snow is starting to fall lightly, not quite unexpected, but a rather abrupt reminder of the cold season starting. They have seen snow from afar, and have passed fields where it had snowed, but until today, they had not yet experienced it. 

Ciri extends a hand, catching a snowflake on her glove, and she smiles widely as she watches it dissolve against the warm material. 

“Do you think we’ll get to have snowball fights?” She has turned her head to Jaskier. “I’ve never played much with snow! Mom didn’t want me to catch a cold when I was little, and after, Grandma insisted I had to do lessons, and that the snow was nothing of importance.” 

“I’m sure we will! Won’t we, Geralt?” 

The witcher seems a bit surprised at being included again in the conversation, and his next smile is almost shy. 

“I know for a fact that Vesemir is quite fond of the strategy behind those,” Geralt says slowly. “And if I recall correctly, Lambert knows how to make the best snowballs.”

“And you?” She asks quietly, a bit of shyness peeking through as she questions the witcher. “Will you play with us?”

Her father? Is that what Jaskier should say they are to each other? It may be a bit strained so far, but he can see it happening. There is no way he isn’t getting the two of them to bond anyway, so that’s a decision taken for the foreseeable future.

“Of course.” 

“We should do teams then,” Jaskier claps his hands together, and Roach flicks her tail towards him as the sudden noise startles her ever so slightly. “That way we may have a chance of winning against the fierce lion cub of Cintra! The gods know we won’t resist her fierce attack otherwise.” 

Ciri laughs again, and there is a huff of laughter that comes from Geralt. Jaskier would say the witcher looks at him fondly, but he knows better than that by now. 

They continue talking for a little while, and soon the path to the Keep ends. There is a wooden bridge, large enough for at least two horses, waiting in front of an open portcullis, and at Jaskier’s surprised look, Geralt shrugs. 

“No one is going to come for us here, and it is only until we are all back in the castle. Once we are all back, Vesemir will have the portcullis lowered, and we will be safer than anywhere in the world.” 

Jaskier remembers hearing about the Sacking. He doesn’t want to doubt Geralt, of course not, but well. If most of the School of the Wolf could be annihilated by mercenaries only a few decades ago, he doesn’t want to take any chances. As they pass the gates, he lets his fingers linger on the stone, pushing spells and blessings into them. He can feel his shield expanding outside of their bubble, and he carefully ties it to the moss and other plants growing on the stones and around the castle. It would exhaust him too much to maintain this large of a protection bubble, and if he isn’t careful, it could cost him his carefully crafted appearance. 

Now that they are inside, Jaskier can properly appreciate how immense Kaer Morhen is. Half ruins, half still standing as it had on its first day, the Wolf Keep is a grandiose work of architecture, with winding paths, nooks and crannies everywhere, and all that befits a castle. All, he notes with a bitter taste in his mouth, except the life that should seep from such a monument. 

“Geralt!” A voice shouts from further inside, and Jaskier sees a man with scars on his right cheek, almost touching his eyes, and he smiles. Eskel. “You’re here! Took you long enough, old man.” 

Geralt laughs, and Jaskier realizes that ever since they passed the gate of Kaer Morhen, the man has relaxed more than he has ever before in Jaskier’s presence. He is smiling, serene, and amused, and when his brother rushes to them, he lets himself be lifted in the air and crushed in a hug so tight Jaskier’s own ribs crack in sympathy. 

“It’s good to see you, wolf,” Eskel says warmly, and then he turns to Ciri and Jaskier. “You must be the Cintran Cub and the poet.” 

Jaskier chuckles a bit as he helps Ciri down from her horse. “Yes, I suppose that is how we would be described if we were characters in one of my stories. This is Cirilla, and I’ am Jaskier. You must be Eskel.” 

The scarred witcher nods and extends a hand to Jaskier, and it’s then that Jaskier realizes how ridiculously  _ large _ the other man is. One of his hands could cover both of Jaskier’s, and he is taller than Geralt by maybe half a inch, although that is a near thing. Considering that Jaskier is as tall as Geralt himself is, he shouldn’t feel so small next to Eskel. Yet, between two witchers who have clearly spent their lives training and fighting, and whose muscles show that very life, he feels ridiculously slender and tiny. 

Regardless, he shakes Eskel’s hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” the new witcher says, and then turns to Ciri. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen, princess.” 

“I’m not a princess anymore,” Ciri sniffles, her nose red with the cold as she smiles shyly up at Eskel. “You can call me Ciri! You are Geralt’s brother?” 

“I am,” he confirms. “The prettiest of the bunch too.” 

Ciri laughs a bit and extends her hand to him formally. Rather than doing it in the way she had been taught, expecting a kiss on the back of her hand, she is doing her best to mimic Jaskier’s earlier gesture. While Jaskier’s hand had felt small, it’s almost comical to see her small hand in Eskel’s. 

“Though, I think you are going to win the title of prettiest in Kaer Morhen very soon.” 

“I don’t care about being the prettiest,” she pouts. “I want to be the strongest!” 

“I think you may have some competition there,” a new voice says, amused. 

An older man is walking closer to them, grey moustache and hair indicating that it’s Vesemir. Despite his appearance as a rather kind spirited old man and the smile he sports, Jaskier can see the danger underneath. It’s a witcher thing, he has to believe. Geralt had also told him that Vesemir was one of the oldest witchers on the continent, so it could be that that Jaskier was picking up on, below the deep wariness that came with age. Jaskier knew that well.

Vesemir looks at Ciri and crouches down, one knee resting on the ground as he takes her in. To the young girl’s credit, she bears his attention with unwavering grace; her eyes stay firmly on his face, and she does not move at all. Even her breathing is slow, paced in controlled puffs. He can see the air she breathes out with the cold, and he wonders how she will fare this far up north during the winter. After all, she has never gone further out than Cintra, and certainly not for winter. 

“Although, you are right, we might yet make you our strongest warrior. You might give Geralt a run for his money after a bit of training.” 

“You think so?” Ciri tries to contain her excitement. She looks back and forth between Geralt and Vesemir, her fists clenching at her sides as she waits for an answer. “I could be a great warrior like my grandma?” 

A kind, if slightly saddened, smile passes on Vesemir’s face again. “Of course. I dare say, it won’t even take much training! We will start very soon, of course.” 

Now distracted by thoughts of training, Ciri nods eagerly, forgetting all her shyness. “Can we start tomorrow?” 

“Alright, calm down,” Geralt chuckles and lifts her in his arms. She goes willingly, holding onto him, and pouts. “You aren’t starting to train with Vesemir right away.” 

“But he said I could be better than you! I could protect you and Jaskier and-“ 

“You don’t have to protect us, sweetheart,” Jaskier says and walks closer, kissing her forehead and ignoring the way he can feel Geralt’s breath on the back of his neck when he does so. “We are here to protect and love you. If you want to learn how to fight, do it for yourself.” 

She chews on her lower lip and nods. “Okay.” 

Both Geralt and Jaskier let out a small sigh of relief at that, and the bard turns back to the elder witcher. Vesemir is watching them with an amused glint in his eyes, something mischievous and youthful, and Jaskier has no more wonderings about where Geralt learnt the dirty tricks he uses when they spar together. 

“Jaskier, I suppose,” Vesemir says as he extends his hand and shakes the bard’s. “We have heard about you here.” 

He can’t help it, he laughs a bit, throwing a playful look at Geralt. “In my defence, I’m quite sure that none of it was true.”

“So what, you're not the greatest bard on the Continent?” Eskel grins, and Geralt growls. “Or Oxenfurt’s most prized guest lecturer?” 

“Well, yes,” Jaskier answers, a bit surprised at the fact that Eskel seems to be using the very same words he had repeated over and over to Geralt. “Although, I’ll say, I expected to hear more about how terribly annoying Geralt complained that I am.” 

“Annoying?” Eskel arches an eyebrow, and his grin morphs into a smirk. “That wasn’t exactly the word I would use to describe you, from what Geralt said, at the very least.” 

“Oh?” 

Jaskier tries his best to play the curious innocent, rather than the delighted and eager newcomer who wants to hear about everything. It is a tough balance, and clearly he must fail because Eskel’s amusement only grows. 

“I’m sure you’ll hear more about it. You are staying here as well, aren’t you?” 

“I certainly didn’t climb this mountain only to go back down in the morrow,” Jaskier laughs a bit. “Geralt invited me to come here after we brought Ciri out of Cintra.” 

Eskel hums, his face alight with the same mischief that had been in Vesemir’s eyes. “Now, I wonder why that is…” 

Jaskier tilts his head to the side a bit and looks back at Geralt, who is talking with Vesemir in a low voice while Cirilla is wandering around them. Her eyes are taking in the size of the castle, and while this is not so far from Cintra’s impressive fortress, its mere state of half ruins must make it even more exciting for the young girl. 

“Let’s get you two to your rooms,” Vesemir says as Jaskier is getting ready to question Eskel about what it is that he means exactly. “Unfortunately Jaskier, we only have the one guest bedroom ready at the moment, and I think Cirilla would appreciate having a room of her own again. You will be alright sharing with Geralt for the night?” 

Jaskier’s heart does not do little flips. It doesn’t because it would be completely ridiculous. After all, he has slept in the same bed as Geralt many times before. At inns when they were trying to save up some coin, in the forest when the nights were getting too cold for the bard to handle without the impressive amount of body heat his friend possessed… No, this won’t be any different from those moments. Why would it be? Because this is Geralt’s home, that they are surrounded by his family? Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Jaskier isn’t  _ that _ sentimental. He thinks. 

Oh, who is he kidding? He knows how much he just wants to be with Geralt, and to have this sort of confirmation that the two of them come together, no matter the context. 

“Of course,” he manages to answer with a large smile. “The question is more if Geralt will put up with me for one more night, or if I will end up on the stone floor!” 

Geralt grunts. “I wouldn’t let you sleep on the floor.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t darling,” Jaskier agrees with a pat on his arm. “We’ll forget the Darenn incident then.” 

“You kicked me in your sleep,” Geralt protests. “You refused to come back to the bed when I managed to wake you up!” 

“You had a bruise the size of my fist on your jaw for days!” 

“Better that than you sleeping on the cold floor,” Geralt crosses his arms.

“Alright, enough with the bickering, lovebirds,” Eskel smiles warmly. “Let’s get you two to your room, and Ciri to her own. Poor girl is freezing in the snow.” 

“I’m just fine,” Ciri pipes up, crossing her arms. “And I want to meet Lil’ Bleater!” 

“Why would you tell the child about this castle’s worst inhabitant,” Vesemir groans. “Why would you do this to me, Geralt?” 

Jaskier huffs a bit, amusement at the eldest witcher’s tone peeking through, and Ciri has no claim about keeping it quiet. She giggles loudly, snickering in her mittens, and Jaskier has a rush of love for the little girl. How he adores her. She is the most wonderful human he has ever met, and she is only eight years old. He can only hope he will be there to watch her grow and become even more amazing. 

Geralt rolls his eyes. “Jaskier asked about it.” 

“Well then, that explains everything,” Vesemir grins and Geralt glares at him. “Get Roach settled in the stables, Geralt. I’ll bring Jaskier and Ciri to their rooms. You can join them after.” 

“You could also wait for me,” Geralt grumbles, but he hands Jaskier the packs that Roach carries. At the very least, Jaskier notes, he hands him out the packs that contain Ciri’s meagre belongings, and Jaskier’s own extensive collection of clothing. Not that Geralt has any idea of how much Jaskier has made fit in there; there are, after all, advantages to being a fae that one cannot deny. 

“So I won’t see Lil’ Bleater?” Ciri pouts as she follows Vesemir and Jaskier. “I thought I was going to get to see her.” 

_ Right _ , Jaskier sighs to himself.  _ Children have a one track mind. _

“You’ll get to see her, but later. For now, we have to unpack and get you settled in your room. After that, I’m sure Eskel will be more than happy to introduce you to her. Isn’t that right, Vesemir?” 

The witcher nods and smiles at the young girl. “Eskel keeps her in the stables when he takes care of Scorpion, and I think he wanted to play a little trick on Geralt today…” 

As if on cue, they hear Geralt swear loudly, and Jaskier quickly covers Cirilla’s ears, but the girl pushes his hands away. Beyond Geralt’s screams, there is the loud guffaw of laughter from Eskel, and the nearly inaudible bleat of a goat. 

“She really doesn’t like Geralt,” Vesemir explains, amused, as he starts walking again. “Although, she isn’t quite fond of me either. She does hate Lambert more than anyone else though.” 

“Do you think she’ll like me?” 

Vesemir hums as they climb stairs that lead to the upper part of one of the most well maintained towers. Jaskier can’t stop looking around, feeling the history of the place. Everything feels so old, and yet so new. More ghosts haunt those walls than Jaskier has ever seen. Even his home, as distant and deathly as it had been, had had less ghosts. Although, the anger of dead fae had always been more potent than that of dead humans. 

“I can’t promise she will,” Vesemir answers after a minute or so. “She is a very strong-headed goat. But if she doesn’t, then I’m sure she has no idea of what she is missing out on.” 

Ciri smiles happily, and follows the older man to the room they prepared for her. When Vesemir pushes the door open, warmth rushes to envelop them, and Ciri sighs contentedly. There is a bright fire burning in the room’s hearth, and the bed opposite to it is covered in warm furs. While the decoration is sparse, it is nonetheless warm, and Ciri walks in with eager joy clear on her face. Despite the fact that she was a princess until quite recently, the girl seems to be amazed at the comfort of the room. 

Jaskier puts down her pack on the small bench at the end of her bed, and smiles as he notices that there is a shirt embroidered with a wolf’s head waiting for her there. There is a thick cloak and gloves as well, and Jaskier feels his heart melt a little more as he realizes that they had really been eager to meet the girl. 

“Jask,” she says, tugging on her hand to lead him to the window. “Look!” 

He does, and he understands her insistence. The view is breathtaking. Forest and mountains blend in with one another, snow covering the ground in a light carpet of cold, and the sunset makes it look otherworldly. It feels as if he has stepped into a world of ice and snow, where the cold rules as master of the land, and where they should not have ventured. It should be cold and impersonal, off-putting even, but it is simply beautiful. Jaskier doesn’t think he can grow tired of the scenery. 

“It is quite an impressive view,” Jaskier says quietly, and Ciri nods eagerly. 

“Do you think we’ll go ice skating? One of the bards that passed by the court talked about this last winter, and it sounded fascinating!” 

Jaskier chuckles again as Vesemir answers her. It is strange, how happy being in Kaer Morhen is making him already, despite the fact that they have not been here longer than an hour. It must be the relief of finally arriving at a destination, of no longer having to sleep outside at night in the freezing cold. Or maybe it is the strangeness of unexpectedly finding a family when he had barely dared to hope to be on friendly terms with them by the end of winter. He had never envisaged that, were he to ever meet them, they would be quite so welcoming. 

He helps Ciri unpack briefly, only starting the work and making sure she is in capacity to finish tidying up properly. Then, he follows Vesemir to the end of the corridor, and then through a door hidden in a side corridor. The room behind it is much bigger than Ciri’s had been. In fact, it doesn’t look anything like a bedroom, but rather much more like a whole home in itself. 

Hidden behind a partition, a large bed covered in furs is more than inviting, and Jaskier has half a mind to ignore the rest of the room in favour of going to sleep immediately. Still, he can’t ignore the large desk with paper strewn all around, and the large bookshelf overflowing with books next to it. There is even a small relaxing area. In fact, this room is a marvel. And it’s  _ Geralt’s _ room? Jaskier is going from surprise to surprise. 

Geralt arrives in the room just as Jaskier is gaping at the comfort of it all, at the way everything feels like home and softness, like a tender caress after too much harshness. It makes sense, he supposes, that the witchers would have comforting rooms, that the harshness of the world was dulled in their castle. Still, it doesn’t stop him from being surprised. 

Rolling his eyes at his companion’s behaviour, Geralt grabs the packs Jaskier is still holding and goes to put them down at the foot of the bed, except for Jaskier’s lute and the small bag where he keeps his music sheets and all of his inspiration; those he puts on the chair at the desk. He only then turns around to his frozen in place friend and sighs.

“Go ahead, say what you have on your mind.” 

“I cannot believe that this is your bedroom, and you still accept to sleep in overpriced, crumbling rooms when we stop in inns. Don’t you feel like you are owed at least some comfort?” 

“It isn’t because we have a surprising amount of comfort in our home that we can expect it from everywhere else. Kaer Morhen is older than many of the villages we pass through, and there was a time it was a home to an elven court. They may have fled the Keep once the sea retreated and the world became what it is now, but their mark is still there. I can’t expect that from everywhere we go.”

Jaskier smiles a bit, and resists the urge to come up to kiss his friend’s cheek. Only Geralt would be so kind in his words, when they are both aware that innkeepers always give Geralt their worst room, the ones in which the bedbugs have nested and the cold is an ever-present companion. 

“It was an elven settlement?” Jaskier asks as he walks around, his fingers caressing the stone. “You’ve never told me that.” 

Geralt shrugs as he starts to unpack. “Didn’t feel relevant.” 

“Didn’t- Geralt, remind me, what am I?” 

The witcher gives him a look and crosses his arms. “You’re a bard.” 

“Yes! I thrive off stories and legends, myths and heroes triumphing over the world! Elven history is always so fascinating. And you know I quite like the sea as well.” 

Sighing, Geralt turns away, going back to his unpacking. “You’ll make the walls sing their stories to you anyway.” 

“Obviously. And now that I know you  _ hid _ this amazing past from me, I’ll be sure to ask them about all the chaos you caused in your youth.” 

“I never caused any chaos.” 

Jaskier snorts. “Right, like I’m going to believe that.” 

They keep bickering this way for a little while, until Ciri comes to join them, the girl squealing in excitement at the sheer size of the room. She isn’t quite tired yet, which is a shame because soon they’ll have to get her to sleep, and she asks a thousand questions to Geralt at first, and when he stops answering, she asks them to Jaskier. 

They meet the rest of Geralt’s family for dinner an hour after, and Ciri quiets down a bit as she is faced with the three other witchers at once. For the first half of the meal, she eats quietly, observing Geralt’s brothers, and then she crosses her arms. 

“I wanna meet Lil’ Bleater,” she announces loudly as she is halfway through chewing on a biscuit Vesemir handed her. 

The witchers all exchange worried looks, all except Eskel, who looks undeniably proud. He whistles loudly, the off-key noise making Jaskier wince, and then waits until he hears something. Beaming, he turns to the young girl. 

“She’s almost here.” 

Indeed, in the strange silence that has taken over the dining hall, they can hear the faint clanking sound of hooves on stone. Ciri is basically vibrating in her seat, holding onto the table, and when the small goat appears in the room, she lets out a small squeal. Her eyes find Geralt’s immediately, and she doesn’t have to say anything; he sighs and nods, and she is out of the table in an instant, running to the goat and extending a hand to her. 

Everyone watches the exchange with bated breath. Eskel seems ready to intervene in an instant, but he is relaxed enough still, so Jaskier doesn’t quite worry. Lambert has his legs drawn up under him, and Geralt has his own feet off the ground. Vesemir gives Jaskier an amused look, and the bard chuckles. It is quite sweet to see his strong witcher and his family this way. 

There is no need to worry however. In an instant, Cirilla has charmed the goat, which bleats more than happily as it gently headbutts the girl in the stomach, with no strength at all behind it. It seems all of Kaer Morhen’s inhabitants have decided that the girl was now an important part of their family, and Jaskier is so glad for it. 

He had thought he understood the depth of the bond between the wolf siblings and had estimated that their terrible childhoods and even worse adulthoods had made them into a tight knit, if somber at times, group. He hadn’t expected them to revert to being actual  _ children _ when they were all together. 

He hadn’t anticipated the downright silliness of them. 

“Do  _ not _ ,” Eskel shrieks, two weeks after they all arrived at Kaer Morhen. He’s chasing after Lambert, who is holding what Jaskier can only assume is his favourite shirt. “It’ll be hell to clean up!” 

Lambert only giggles, high-pitched and out of breath, and keeps running. Jaskier has no idea what is going on, and he isn’t about to ask, so he simply turns back to the game of Gwent he is trying to play with Vesemir. 

“Ignoring them only makes matters worse,” Vesemir hums, and throws a blanket at Eskel as he passes by. “Don’t catch your death, boy.”

Eskel, chest naked, grumbles and pulls the blanket around his shoulder anyway, before continuing on his chase. 

Jaskier assumes that that will be the extent of his involvement with the sibling fights. Naturally, as his instincts always are when Ciri is involved, he is wrong.

The first time he notices something amiss in his  _ own _ belongings, he is in his - well, Geralt’s - bedroom. They haven’t taken the time to make a room for him, and he is so used to sleeping in the same bed as Geralt… It also has the added benefit that Ciri, whenever a nightmare wakes her up, can come and rest in between the two of them. In those moments, Jaskier really feels like part of a family.

He is looking through the desk, trying to find a pack of spices he is certain he had bought in Novigrad and left there as he had unpacked, when he finds  _ it _ . It being a small snake, looking as bemused as Jaskier is, as it sloppily moves around on Jaskier’s unused paper. Lifting it with some wariness, Jaskier frowns at it. 

“Well, what do we have here…” 

“Has anyone seen Lambert Junior,” Lambert’s voice rings through the castle, and the snake hisses. 

So much for Jaskier’s search then; he sighs and pushes back the drawer he had opened. He makes sure that the snake won’t leave his grip right away, and while he isn’t quite fond of having an animal in his hand, better it be there than on the ground, where it could get hurt. He’ll simply have to find somewhere to release it, although he has no idea where he could do just that. Oh well, he is sure he can explore the woods and-

The door bursts open. 

“Lambert Junior!” Rushing forward, Lambert lifts the snake from Jaskier’s hands and gently pokes its head with a finger, an undeniable fond look on his face. Then, he seems to remember where he is, and he directs a suspicious glare at Jaskier. “How did you get him.” 

Blinking rapidly, Jaskier tries to make sense of what’s happening now. Lambert has a  _ snake _ ? Named  _ Lambert Junior _ ? Did he fall down and hit his head? 

“It was there when I was looking for my spices,” he finally answers. “It’s your snake?” 

“Obviously,” Lambert rolls his eyes. “Got him last winter. He stayed with Vesemir this year, the way Lil Bleater does.” 

“Uh. I suppose that makes sense,” Jaskier nods. “How did he end up in Geralt’s desk?” 

Lambert hums for a second, letting the small snake wrap around his wrist, and then his eyes narrow. “Eskel.” 

Well, that makes sense then, he supposes. Briefly, he wonders if he would have behaved the same way if he had had siblings, if he hadn’t been born a lonely noble’s son, raised to take after his parents’ business only to flee… He shakes his head, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind. He made his peace with his choice long ago. 

Chatting with Lambert, who thoroughly introduces him to the snake, he makes his way back downstairs, only to find Ciri grinning from where she is perched on Eskel’s shoulder. The little girl is trying to reach the rafters to hang something up, and Jaskier squints as he recognizes one of his doublets. It’s not his favourite, but still. She wouldn’t dare…

With a jump and a yell to warn Eskel, the girl does hang the doublet, and only as Eskel catches her does she seem to realize Jaskier is in the room. Eskel sees Lambert and grins as well, and before either men opposite them can say anything, the scheming duo is running out of the room, Ciri’s giggles marking their progression through the castle. 

“You need help getting that?” Lambert asks, making a valiant effort of pretending he wants to help Jaskier despite the fact that he is quite literally itching to run after his brother. 

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier shakes his head. “No worries, get Eskel for me.” 

Lambert grins and takes off, and Jaskier sighs. He casts a quick spell and his doublet comes back down, folding itself neatly into his arms. He does love having Chaos some days.

Ciri’s training starts around that time. All the energy she doesn’t put into pranking her family, she pours into learning how to fight. They slowly develop a routine, quiet and familiar, and Jaskier loves it. 

Mornings are spent watching the witchers train Ciri, trying to prevent any pranks and failing at that, and he usually retreats to the library or the garden in the afternoons, reading and working on new songs, or taking care of the plants they so need. Sharing Geralt’s room, which he had thought might be difficult due to his feelings, becomes much easier, until the very thought of sleeping apart feels wrong. 

Most days, they wake up touching each other in some manner. Jaskier would never admit it, but his favourite time was the morning he woke up with Geralt’s head tucked under his chin, their fingers intertwined as their hands were trapped between them. He had lingered in bed a little longer than usual that morning, looking at Geralt’s relaxed features, and had granted himself the fantasy of this being something he was allowed to have every single day. When Geralt had twitched, Jaskier had gotten up quickly and left for the kitchen. No need to make this more awkward than it needs to be. 

It has been a month since they first passed the gates of Kaer Morhen when Lambert makes a rather impressive mistake. 

They are training in the courtyard, and Jaskier has, for once, accepted to come join them. He is cradling a cup of hot tea, much too hot for any human, but to him it is just hot enough, and is watching Eskel and Lambert fight against one another. They are good, he has to admit; fluid and fast, their movements blurring in the morning sunlight. Whenever he sees them moving in a way he has seen Geralt do countless times, he smiles softly. Family really makes it all. 

“Bard,” Lambert calls out once Eskel has dropped his weapon. “Come get trained as well.” 

“I assure you I don’t need to,” he tries to protest, but Ciri is already tugging on his hand. She had been on the half collapsed wall a few minutes ago. “I’ll be just fine like-“ 

“No buts,” Lambert tosses Jaskier a blunt sword. “Come on, pretty boy. Time to learn how to wield a sword.” 

Jaskier arches an eyebrow as he catches the sword by its hilt. "Pretty boy, really?" 

The other Witcher shrugs. "Would you prefer me to call you Ugly Mug?"

Humming, Jaskier has to admit he is quite handsome, and as such the nickname seems rather accurate. It pays off to be a fae. He steps forward, twirling the sword awkwardly in his hands. Its balance is off, not adapted to his own body and strength, and it is undeniably human. He has always preferred elvish swords, or even fae weapons, as long and inconvenient as they could be. His parents had always scolded him for his dislike of fae weapons, but he had never been one for melee. 

Geralt chuckles from where he is waiting for Ciri to come back, a warm smile on his cheeks. It is warmer than the summer sun, brighter than the shimmering sea, and Jaskier holds back a sigh. If Geralt had at least the decency to not look so delightful with his beard … 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Jask?” He asks, as if he doesn’t know exactly how proficient with a sword Jaskier is. “You could get hurt.” 

Winking back at Geralt, Jaskier moves toward Lambert. “I’m sure your brother will be nice to me, won’t he?”

Lambert grunts and nods. “Stop flirting, and get into a proper stance.” 

“Oh?” Jaskier pretends to fumble, to not know how to move his body accordingly, and then waits for Lambert to attack. His first blow is soft, just a light tap to the witcher’s side. “Like this?” 

Lambert scrutinizes him, but must find nothing satisfying because he only steps back and nods. “Beginner’s luck.” 

“Of course,” Jaskier agrees. “Shall we? I am quite eager to learn now.” 

The witcher gets back into a fighting stance, and Jaskier mimics him, although he makes sure to keep it still faulty. This is finally getting fun, but he doesn’t want his good time to get ruined because he can’t keep his identity a secret. He still wonders how the other witchers haven’t figured it out yet. At the very least, Vesemir must be aware. 

Lambert attacks first, reckless and in too much of a hurry to show that he can beat Jaskier to properly keep his guard up, and Jaskier only has to step to the side at the last minute. Nearly falling down, the other man turns around and attacks again, and again, and  _ again _ . Jaskier does his best to keep his expression as neutral as he can. This will only work if Lambert is completely clueless. 

To keep his cover, he allows Lambert to hit him a few times, although each time it happens, he makes sure to give back as good as he gets. 

“You aren’t half-bad,” Eskel comments, amused. “We could make a fighter out of you yet.” 

“Why, thank you. I’m not so sure it would be needed, what with you three witchers protecting me, but I’m sure it would be an interesting experience.” 

Geralt chuckles, low in his throat, and Jaskier can see the other wolf look at him, surprised. “You aren’t worried that Lambert might hurt your bard?” 

Again, Geralt laughs. “I would be more worried about Lambert if I were you.” 

To avoid losing the element of surprise, Jaskier springs into action immediately. It isn’t the most opportune moment; he can tell that Lambert was about to dive for a hit against his left flank, and it would have been easier to wait until he had missed, but Geralt had to say this… 

The flat of his sword falls on Lambert’s fingers harshly, stinging him and making him nearly drop his sword in surprise. He yelps, and steps back, and Jaskier attacks properly. It feels… strange. The sword is too real in his hand as he swirls, hits, parries. Lambert, who had already been tiring himself before, is starting to pant and sweat more, and if Jaskier listens carefully, he can hear the rapid rhythm of his heart. Hare-hearted little fellow. 

Ciri claps and yells out excitedly from the side as both men dance around each other in a deadly manner. Jaskier lets some of his glamour drop, and he feels scales climbing back towards his mouth. It’s painfully dry, and his eyes water at the sensation, but Lambert is too shocked by it to take advantage of his momentary weakness. Jaskier strikes the last blow, a powerful hit to his stomach combined with a kick in his knees, and the witcher falls on the ground. 

“Enough, Jask,” Geralt calls out calmly, as if he were simply asking for another bowl of soup at dinner. “You’re going to hurt him.” 

Panting, Jaskier draws back, and tosses his sword to the side. This is why he doesn’t like fighting. It makes his blood sing with the violence of his ancestors, and he hates that. There will always be a part of him that seeks vengeance and the blood of those who banished his people. He has been fighting it tooth and nails since he was born, and today is not the day he will stop. 

“Jaskier…?” Cirilla’s voice is small, and he takes a few steps back, away from them all. “Are you alright?” 

“I-“ He breathes in, slow and measured, and nods. Tears are rushing to his eyes, the too intense emotional rush washing over him in bursts. “Yes. I just need a moment.” 

Without a second look back, he leaves, his glamour back on and his hands trembling. He should never have accepted to train. 

Despite his fears, the Wolves don’t seem to hold a grudge. They say nothing about it when he meets them for dinner, and after a few days of uncertainty, he relaxes again. If they ask questions, he will answer, but until then… 

Until then, it turns out, he will have to deal with their childish pranks. He has to admit, when he wakes up from a short nap in the main hall to find snow and ice piled up over his blankets, he doesn’t have the heart to be mad. He gives back as good as he gets. 

When he finds one of his favourite shirts dyed in a bright pink colour and Lambert’s fingertips are pink with dye and beetroot, he sneaks to Lambert’s room while the witcher is training and removes all laces and buttons from the man’s shirts and pants. Someone loosens the strings to his lute (and there he suspects Geralt, who knows how important the instrument is and wouldn’t dare if he didn’t know that Jaskier could put it back together easily) and all witchers except Vesemir are greeted with pancakes filled with dirt. 

They make do with what they have, overall, and Jaskier finds himself laughing more during this winter than during any winter he has spent at Oxenfurt. 

As times goes on, he realizes that Ciri, who has been the instigator of many a prank and occasionally the victim of one, has found a place within the Wolves. Besides training, she spends time with Lambert, who teaches her to paint, and with Eskel in the library. It isn’t unusual for him to walk into a room to find the three of them talking in low voices in fact. He would worry about Cirilla, but the former princess of Cintra is more than capable of handling herself, and both Lambert and Eskel have taken to calling her “little cub” or “pup”, which Jaskier finds absolutely adorable. 

The day he realizes he should have been worried about the three of them comes mid-winter, when the sky is rather clear and the wind is gentle upon the castle’s walls. He has just walked into the library, where the three of them are gathered, looking for Geralt, and he frowns as the young girl hides behind herself a piece of paper. 

“Jask!” She cries out, smiling widely, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. One thing they haven’t managed to teach her yet is to lie. 

“Pleased to see you as well, Ciri. You three having fun?” 

The little girl nods excitedly, almost rocking on her chair. “Yes! Uncle Lambert taught me how to throw a knife today! And Uncle Eskel is teaching me what’s the best way to kill a drowner! I’m going to be the toughest witcher ever.” 

Glancing at Eskel, Jaskier frowns a bit. “Is that right? And a knife, Lambert, really?” 

“Hey, the kid’s gotta know how to defend herself when she is back on the path with Geralt and you. Can’t lose her at the first sight of a fight.” Eskel says, closing the book in front of him and putting his hand over the title. “Anything we can help you with?”

“I was looking for Geralt in fact, I had something I wanted to talk to him about. Any of you know where he is?” 

Ciri shakes her head vigorously, her blond hair flying around her head. “Didn’t see him!” 

“He said something about going to see the southern tower,” Lambert answers. “He likes going up there every once in a while. Take a bit of time to think.” 

Jaskier hums. “Thank you. I’m sure he won’t mind if I interrupt him then.” 

With that, he turns his back to the witchers and Cirilla. He misses the mischievous look the three of them share, and he is so deep in thoughts that he doesn’t notice Lambert following him at a distance. He has to talk with Geralt about the sleeping arrangement; if he stays one more night with the man he loves, he will explode and confess, and that would definitely put their friendship at risk.

He lets his feet guide him to the upper floor of the southern tower, one of the most ruined buildings in Kaer Morhen, but breathtaking in its ruin. Moss grows inside and out, and winter flowers have taken to blooming. Jaskier can’t help himself, he lets his fingers run against the delicate petals, watching as they shiver under his touch. Finding nothing inside the tower, which he really should have expected, he pulls the door that leads to the outer wall open and slips out, scanning quickly to see if he finds Geralt. 

It’s not freezing just yet, the cold winter sun manages to warm him ever so slightly, so he allows himself to move forward into the cold day. He has seen the place a few times since he arrived, so he has an idea of where his friend might be. 

Indeed, when he arrives at a rather square spot that surrounds one of the smaller watchtowers, he finds Geralt, staring at the horizon. The witcher has a rather thick cape wrapped around him, although he looks like he barely needs it, his hands ungloved as he leans on the stone. 

“Mind if I interrupt?” 

Geralt turns to watch him come closer, a smile on his lips, and shrugs. The beard suits him, Jaskier has to admit, and he finds himself itching to come touch it and kiss it. He leans over the little wall, looking at the valley that stretches out underneath. It’s beautiful here. He could see himself spending a lifetime or three in this place. 

“You’re going to freeze half to death like this,” the witcher says, and Jaskier turns his head to see him unclasping the fur covered cape from his shoulders. “Here, take this.” 

“What about you? You need to keep warm as well and-“ he doesn’t have the time to protest any longer. Geralt’s hands are gently putting the cape over him, and warmth rushes in him. “Thank you.” 

“Couldn’t let my favourite fae die of frostbite,” he says, moving back to where he was standing. 

“Your favourite, uh?” Jaskier teases. “I thought we weren’t even friends?” 

“That was years ago, Jask,” Geralt groans, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t have invited you here if I didn’t trust you and enjoy your company.” 

“So, are you finally ready to admit that I’m your best friend in the whole wide world?”

“That would be Eskel,” Geralt answers cheekily.

“He’s your brother! That doesn’t count.” Jaskier pouts a bit. “Come on, you know I’m the best best friend you could ever ask for.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny what the bard just said.

They stay there in silence for a few minutes, Geralt observing nature with a thin smile on his face, and Jaskier observing Geralt. It is rather peaceful, and Jaskier wishes they could stay like this forever. 

“Geralt, I-“ 

“Jask, we-“ 

They both stop, laughing a bit as they look at each other. There is another moment of silence before Geralt moves his hand, in the rather universal gesture of ‘go ahead’ and the bard isn’t keen on not following the instruction. 

“I’ve been thinking, we have been here for what, a month and a half?” Geralt nods in agreement, and Jaskier continues, “It’s been quite some time then, and well. Winter is the only time you really get to yourself. I know this winter is different, since you have Ciri too, and I’m here, but well. I wouldn’t want to step on your toes, and you have had a really rough year. You deserve the rest, more than anyone else.” 

Geralt looks at him, intrigued, but doesn’t interrupt. Jaskier tries to not shy away from his eyes, to not look away from the direct eye contact and cower. 

“Cintra, and before that the Path, then escaping Nilfgaard through the whole Continent, it’s sure to have worn you down. And since I’ve been here, we have spent a lot of time together, which I love of course! You are my very best friend in the whole wide world, and I hope I am yours as well-“ 

“Jask,” Geralt cuts in, not without gentleness. “You are rambling. You are my best friend too, but get on with it, will you?” 

That Geralt admits it now, despite the earlier teasing, warms Jaskier to his core. He might never have Geralt romantically, but he does have him as his friend, and that should be enough. 

“I’m going to ask Vesemir to prepare the spare room for me. It’s only fair that you get to rest in your room, and what a gorgeous room, you must be eager to get it back to yourself, I can’t imagine that sharing with me has been easy on you!” He tries to keep his tone light, despite the heaviness in his stomach. He doesn’t want to sleep in another bedroom, he wants to stay by Geralt’s side forever, to wake up with long white hair in his face and a muscled back pressed against him. “You’ll finally get your room back to yourself, and your bath too! I’ll miss it of course, but oh well. The sacrifices of friendship!” 

When he realizes that Geralt isn’t answering, that his friend is looking at him with wide eyes, he stops. 

“Is that what you wish?” Geralt asks, his eyes flickering away from Jaskier’s. “You would rather have your own room?” 

“Well, now, I think it would definitely be better-“ 

He doesn’t have the time to finish his sentence. His “for you” is swallowed by Geralt’s answer, and the hurt look of the witcher. 

“Very well then. I’ll let you move your packs.” 

That said, Geralt turns away, back to the horizon and the endless valley. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier hesitates, moves a bit closer, but the witcher doesn’t turn back to him, and he doesn’t let his hand fall on the witcher’s shoulder. What has he done? “I’ll see you later then.” 

There is not even a grunt of acknowledgement, nothing that lets him think that Geralt has heard him, but Jaskier knows him. The hard set of his shoulders, the way he has closed himself off completely in barely a second… Jaskier hurt him, but the bard has no idea how. Still, rather defeated, he knows he can’t push Geralt to tell him. It will come in time.

Jaskier walks back to the door he walked through to get here, and pulls it toward himself. 

It doesn’t budge. 

He tries again, pulling the handle down harsher, and then again, pushing the door instead of pulling it, but it doesn’t give. There is a slight resistance, and he would say that there is something blocking the door, but why would there be? In such an old castle, the door has most likely gotten stuck with the cold. 

The next time he tries, he puts all his weight against it, but still nothing. He grunts and kicks it, angry at his own inadequacy, when he feels Geralt coming up behind him. The witcher says nothing, simply pushes at the door, and then pulls. Much like Jaskier, he tries multiple methods, but nothing gives. He grunts, tries again, and Jaskier barely has the time to step away before he is throwing himself against the door. And yet, it still doesn’t move, merely shakes lightly. 

“Geralt, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Jaskier puts himself between Geralt and the door before the witcher can try again. “Darling-“ 

“Don’t,” Geralt cuts in harshly. 

“What…?” 

“Don’t call me that!” Geralt growls, stepping away. “You shouldn’t call me that.” 

“And why not? Is there some stupid rule that bards shouldn’t call their friend by sweet names? And you’ve never objected to that before. Do you not like it?” 

“No I do! But… You can’t. Not anymore.” Geralt steps away, crossing his arms and refusing to look at Jaskier. “Just, don’t give me petnames again.” 

Jaskier stays stunned, silent for once. He has a thousand questions to ask, but Geralt looks angry, or at the very least like he is done talking about this subject, and he doesn’t want to alienate his friend furthermore. So instead, he sighs and sits down against the door, gathering the fur cape around himself as he watches Geralt pace on the terrace. 

Finally, the witcher settles down as well, next to him although there is a meter or two of distance, when before he would not have hesitated to sit shoulder to shoulder. With the cold spreading through his body despite the cape, the silence becomes eerie, an uncomfortable weight on his shoulders, and Jaskier can only last a few minutes before it bursts out of him. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did but I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, let me fix this.” 

“There is nothing to fix.” Geralt grunts out. “You don’t have to force yourself for my sake.” 

“For your sake? Geralt, you’re my friend-“ 

“Well that’s the problem isn’t it?” The witcher spits out, and then looks away. “I’m your friend.” 

“What… Geralt, what the hell? I thought we were way past this! You said it earlier yourself, I’m your best friend! Or … was that just a cruel joke?” 

“You are the jester between us.” 

“Are you calling me a fool?” Jaskier glares at the witcher. “I don’t know what I did, but it certainly doesn’t mean I deserve to be insulted like this!” 

“I’m not insulting you,” Geralt protests, crossing his arms and returning the glare. “You are simply toying with my feelings and I don’t appreciate it.” 

“Toying with your- Geralt, what the hell? I would never! You know this!” 

“I thought I did.” 

Jaskier frowns. “What feelings Geralt? I simply wanted to leave you your room to yourself this winter, I thought you’d be glad! Believe me, I don’t want to leave your room, but you’ll rest better and-“ 

“You don’t want to leave?” 

There is a touch of wonder and hesitancy in Geralt’s voice, and Jaskier freezes in his tirade, his mouth half open still. Is that what’s been bothering him ?

“Oh darling, Geralt, no! I love sleeping with you- I mean. I love sleeping in your bed, with you, it’s definitely better than waking up all alone and cold. And I, I… You’re my friend, of course I like being around you. I just… I wanted to make things more comfortable for you.” 

“Don’t, I like it this way too!” Now, the witcher sounds a bit desperate, and he comes closer to Jaskier slightly. “I like waking up with you in my bed. You are… good company.”

“Well. I’m glad you think so. I’ll stay then, if that’s alright?” At Geralt’s enthusiastic nod, he smiles a bit, a gesture mirrored by the witcher. “Alright then.” 

There is silence once more, more comfortable and more like their usual one on early mornings on the Path. 

“Say,” Jaskier talks again after another few minutes of silence, as he wonders when the door will unfreeze again. “You meant to tell me something earlier. What was it?” 

He thinks he sees a faint blush on Geralt’s cheek, but the cold is still griping, and it might very well be that the witcher’s body is trying to combat against it. 

“Nothing.” 

“It wasn’t nothing,” Jaskier insists and, moving carefully, jostles Geralt’s shoulder with his own. “Come on, tell me. We are bedmates, after all.” 

“Right,” Geralt sighs. “Bedmates.” 

“I thought that wasn’t an issue?” 

“It’s not,” Geralt agrees, and then he twists his sleeves over his fingers nervously. “Is that all we are though?”

“What do you mean?” Jaskier tilts his head to the side, looking at his witcher. “We are friends too.” 

“I know, I know. But… I can’t help but wonder… Why did you come to Kaer Morhen with me?”

“I… Well. I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to see the famed halls of the School of the Wolf! And Ciri was so sweet and-“ 

“Is that all?” Geralt’s voice is reaching a desperate peak, and Jaskier wonders why he is so insistent, why he wants to know so badly. “It was for Ciri, and for the stories you could find here?” 

Oh.  _ Oh _ .

“Geralt, darling,” Jaskier says carefully, a hand coming to rest on Geralt’s drawn up knee. “I didn’t even have to think twice, because I knew you would be there too. I came here for you. For my best friend, for my White Wolf, for … for the man I’m desperately in love with. I would go up a thousand more mountains for you, Geralt, and fight monsters that have me terrified.” 

There is a beat of silence as Geralt registers the words, his expression going from carefully blank to awed. In the terrifying seconds it takes for Geralt to answer, Jaskier can feel his own heartbeat speed up, the vital organ so fast now he wonders how can anyone stand that. Surely, this is a trick from some sorcerer who has a gripe against him-

Soft lips and rough beard hair brush against his hand. Refocusing on the present, he realizes that Geralt is holding it and looking at him tenderly now, eyes full of adoration. 

“You love me-“ 

“Yes, I thought we established that-“ 

“You love me,” Geralt starts again, looking fondly annoyed, “and I love you.” 

Jaskier blushes, and the surprise of hearing those words attacks him so deeply he feels his glamour drop. The air is tighter now, and the light hurts slightly, too bright as it reflects on the snow. His skin, usually an unmarred tan, is now spotted with dark scales, showing on the hand that Geralt is still holding. The witcher smiles tenderly again, and Jaskier melts. 

“Oh,” he manages to answer finally, left speechless for the first time. 

“Yes, ‘oh’,” Geralt chuckles. “I wanted to tell you that earlier but then I thought that, well, that you were rejecting me.” 

“I wasn’t! Gods, I wasn’t, I love you so much, I-“ 

“Hey, hey.” Geralt draws him closer, caressing his cheek. “Calm down, Jask. It’s alright, I know. You didn’t mean it that way, I was just so afraid of your no…” 

“We are idiots,” Jaskier murmurs and kisses Geralt’s cheek tentatively. “I should have told you years ago.” 

“Years?” Geralt repeats with wonder. “You’ve loved me for years? Why did you never tell me?” 

Jaskier laughs a bit, letting his head drop on Geralt’s shoulder. They are completely entangled in one another now, Jaskier’s legs thrown over Geralt’s lap and the witcher’s right arm tightly wrapped around the bard’s waist. Jaskier tugs the cape Geralt put on his shoulders earlier over the both of them. It barely covers them, and Geralt looks amused by the gesture, but he nuzzles a thanks into Jaskier’s hair anyway. 

“When did you even realize you loved me?” 

Geralt takes a moment to think, sighing a bit. “Not so long ago, I’d say. I woke up a few mornings ago and saw you sleeping next to me and… It clicked. I knew that I loved you, that I had been loving you for years.” 

“Here you go then,” Jaskier smiles gently. “You have your answer as to why I didn’t say anything before.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Geralt, love,” Jaskier says, and they both blush at the endearment. “You weren’t even aware you loved me. I had no clue whatsoever that you did either, and I wasn’t willing to risk our friendship and travels and  _ life _ together because of my silly feelings. I thought… I don’t know. I thought it would fade, as all my fancies always had. But well. You aren’t a fancy or anything of the like. I love you, and that isn’t changing any time soon.” 

The witcher’s eyes are full of some tears Jaskier will tactfully erase from any song he might compose for himself about this, and it isn’t long before his nose is pushing against Jaskier’s cheek, breath ghosting over the scales scattered like freckles. 

“May I?” 

His lips are impossibly close, brushing against Jaskier’s in an almost-kiss, and the bard sighs softly, want devouring him. His body feels dulls wherever they aren’t touching, and Geralt smiles — Jaskier can’t even see him do that, he feels him. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“Yes! Damn you, Geralt of-“ 

His tirade is shortened by lips overtaking his, and all thoughts fly away from his head as he kisses back wantonly. His hands bury themselves in the long white hair of his companion, his mind sings with the delight of finally kissing Geralt. The light scratch of beard against his skin is a delight as well, and he dives back in for another, and another, and another. He only stops when Geralt’s breathing becomes laboured, harsher than it should be. Jaskier scolds himself slightly for the way he manages to always overlook human breathing abilities. 

Geralt smiles and pecks his lips again despite his breathing, and there is a moment of quiet again. His thumb caresses Jaskier’s cheeks, brushing against the scales, and the fae shivers, happy to bask in the love offered to him. Then the movements stop, and the silence becomes heavy as Geralt lets out a long suffering groan. 

“You are a fae.” 

“Yes, that is quite evident,” Jaskier answers, confused. “You’ve known this for years.” 

“You could have blasted the door open, Jask.”

The realization dawns on him not gently, but like a cold waterfall on a summer day. 

“Oh gods,” he groans, hiding his face in Geralt’s shoulder. “I could have.” 

“Though,” Geralt soothes, as he still tries to contain his laughter, body shaking underneath Jaskier’s embarrassed face, “we wouldn’t have had this talk if you had.” 

“I suppose so,” Jaskier sighs. “And honestly, it would be somewhat rude to break open the door. I don’t understand how it got locked though, I was certain I had left it open when I joined you outside, and it was already open when I got there.” 

For a second, Geralt frowns, and then he groans again. “My brothers.” 

“Uh?” 

“My brothers, they might have… teased me regularly about how in love with you I was. Until the other day I hadn’t really paid attention to it but well. They have a point. And the gods know they are terrible when they are convinced they are right.” 

“Terrible as in, would lock us at the top of a tower so we can finally have a proper discussion, and then forget to open the door up again?” Jaskier teases. 

“Exactly like that,” Geralt sighs. 

Jaskier hums and captures Geralt’s lips with his own, stealing kisses from his lover. “No more need for that now, though.” 

The long kisses and searing bites to his lips are answer enough for Jaskier. 

A few minutes after though, when they have finally separated themselves again, they realize that they do have to get out of here, and rather soon. Snow is starting to threaten to fall, the clouds looking upon them heavily, and even Geralt’s lips are starting to show a tinge of blue. 

“I’m not breaking the door,” Jaskier announces, and Geralt rolls his eyes. “Don’t you do that! I don’t want to break yet another part of your home.” 

“Your noble feelings are very much appreciated,” Geralt says, amusement peering through the slight annoyance, “But I would rather we don’t freeze our asses to death. Please break the door.” 

“No,” Jaskier pouts, and then he looks on the other side of Geralt and grins. “Do you trust me?” 

“Not when you smile like that.” 

The smirk on Jaskier’s face doesn’t die down, and he grabs Geralt, tugging him until they are both standing and then tugs him to the edge of the wall. They are staring down at the courtyard from here, and the witcher growls. 

“Jaskier, don’t.” 

“But it would be so much faster!” Jaskier pleads, and then his smile comes back, mischievous and determined as he slithers closer to Geralt, arms sneaking around his witcher’s waist. “And you would have to hold me really tight.” 

“I am not jumping down a thirty-five feet high wall just because you don’t want to break a door.” 

“I would stop our fall! Come on, love? Just this once, I want to show you what it feels like to fly.” 

“That’s falling, not flying.” 

Jaskier’s pout this time is much stronger, and he knows he has won when Geralt sighs deeply. 

“Fine. This is the only time we do this, and if I see you try to do that with Cirilla-“ 

“Strictly an us thing, got it!” 

Geralt doesn’t have the time to protest what Jaskier just said before he is dragged over the edge, and he grips Jaskier’s hips, fingers tight enough to leave bruises on a human skin. Holding him as well, Jaskier grins as they are suspended in the air for a few seconds before they fall. 

Time feels suspended as they stare into one another’s soul, the ground coming closer infinitely slow. Geralt’s heart is beating slowly and steadily, unlike what he had expected, and Jaskier smiles tenderly. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispers softly as they fall, and Geralt lets go of any worries. 

They touch the ground delicately, and the world returns back to its normal speed afterward, but Geralt only has eyes for Jaskier. The fae has a slight sheen of exhaustion pearling on his forehead, and Geralt drops a light kiss on his cheek. 

“No more magic today.” 

Jaskier agrees with a hum, linking their fingers together now that they aren’t clinging to each other for dear life, and is moving in for a proper kiss when they are interrupted. 

“It worked! Uncle Lambert, Uncle Eskel! Gramp!!” Ciri hollers at the entrance of the courtyard, a large grin on her face as she calls her new family, and Jaskier feels Geralt’s trembling as he hears that. He doesn’t need to ask to know that Geralt is more than happy to know his daughter, adopted or not, has fallen in such a familiar pattern with his family that she considers them hers.

The three other men arrive at leisurely pace, and Jaskier could have taken this opportunity to move away from Geralt, to pretend this was nothing. He doesn’t want that. He wants to be with Geralt. He needs the whole world to know it and realize how lucky Jaskier got. 

When everyone is in the courtyard, there is a silence again, and then Eskel and Vesemir groan loudly as they take out of their pockets their pouches of coin. 

“I told you it would work,” Lambert says smugly as he gathers a few pieces from the two Wolves. “Always does.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes. “You bet on when Jaskier and I would get together? And you locked us outside?” 

“I would have gotten the door back open in a bit,” Lambert answers, looking offended at the very idea of not doing so. “And you seem pretty happy!” 

Jaskier burrows himself against Geralt’s side and inhales the thick scent of his witcher. Still… 

“We should take a bath now,” he announces, tugging Geralt towards their room. “We have a rather large tub to share now.” 

Eskel and Lambert mimic puking, but Jaskier is too wrapped up in his own romance to care about the two men’s antics. He has Geralt and a new family, and he couldn’t be happier

[](https://ibb.co/7WnvymJ)

**Author's Note:**

> Go check Radaan's amazing art on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/truecryptid/status/1359845332776083459?s=19)!


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